What I Know for Certain~

But don’t you want to be happy? Don’t you owe it to your kids to remember you as happy? Life is supposed to be happy. Maybe you’re depressed. Don’t you want to be happy?
If you’re a widow/er, then you’ve heard the same questions and comments. I know you have. Or, if you’re public about your grief, as I am, you hear it from the general public. Less frequently, possibly, as the years pass. But you hear it. Such comments were more prominent somewhere in the second half of my 3rd year. Apparently, if one is still grieving in the 3rd year, bells of doubt start ringing in the minds of those around you, whispering words like depression complicated grief not moving on not getting on with it medications therapy etc…
I’m embarrassed to admit that, upon hearing these comments (and let’s be honest, it’s thinly veiled criticism because it comes across exactly as it sounds: a judgement, as if I’m doing something wrong), I initially and inevitably ended up defending myself, and trying to explain myself, even as I knew I had no reason to defend myself. But those words made me feel defensive and attacked. So, I defended.
No longer. No. Longer.
Guess what? I’m perfectly content with my legacy. If I were to die right now, this fucking minute, I’d have zero regrets. None. Nada. Zero.
And I owe my kids nothing, because they already have all the Love in the world from me.
I know exactly how my kids will remember me and I know what my kids will remember about me. Whether I die today, or tomorrow or years from now.
Our mom was THE most kickass mom ever. She and pop had a Love story for the ages. They sold everything and traveled the country together and remember when we’d call them up we’d ask them where are you now? She nursed him with so much Love through his first cancer and they kept on traveling and when the cancer came back, she did it all again, and bigger. She ensured that all of us had one on one time with him in hospice and she honored and supported us through our own grief, even as she grieved. She bought a trailer after he died and painted it and her car pink and she dressed in pink and she drove all over the entire fucking country, honoring him and their Love and connecting with people everywhere. She was a connector. She inspired people. She was colorful and crazy and she was the Love Warrior and a Fucking Warrior Goddess and she did all that while she was grieving because she loved pop so much and her life felt empty without him and she fucking did it all anyways. She left an example to all of us and to her grandkids about determination and grit and Love. She cried and she laughed and none of it meant anything and all of it meant everything and she lived when she didn’t want to live and she talked to us honestly about the impact of his death on her and she loved hard because Love was all that was left amid the ashes of her life when pop died. She was unapologetic about her grief and her Love and she lived in spite of it and with it. And we are proud of who she was and what she was because she was real and being real was all that mattered. She was a Fucking Warrior Goddess.
No. I have no qualms about the memories I’ll leave behind for my kids, or for anyone else who might remember me.
My epitaph will read Here lies a woman who lived the duality of Love and Grief, who made everything around her shimmer and sparkle with Love, with a shattered heart, and she did it all in pink. She was a Fucking Warrior Goddess.

Discharged and highly charged, moments~

Handsome Husband signed the paperwork yesterday to go on hospice care. 483662_4633850525350_15028364_nA moment that was both horrifying and filled with gratitude.  Thank god.  And, ohmygod.  And thank god.  These cancers are blood borne.  Even if one gets treated, there will be more  popping up somewhere else.  So, yes, hospice.  The room was crowded with those who love this man so much.  The hospice rep came in with the sheaf of papers and a not so official pen for, you know, signage purposes.  Doesn’t he kind of look like the President signing a bill into law before handing the official pen to the normal citizen at his side?  Afterwards, we pinky swore.  No regrets.

Transport happened quickly to the hospice inpatient unit a few miles away.  But not before hugs from hospital staff.  In the one week he was in hospital, Handsome Husband, of course, made an impression. 15980_4633853005412_1941846066_nThe transport guys were so kind, so compassionate.  Thank you, transport guys, for treating my husband with care, and hugging me when you left us at hospice, our heads still whirling.  488281_4633853365421_415738860_n

Here we are. We’ve moved from Clusterfuck, USA to Sacred Space, Hospice Village.  My most handsome husband will spend his final days here.  Its’ kind of a standard room, but he doesn’t have  a room-mate. We redecorated with our postcards representing just a few of our Happily Homeless travels.  And, yes, its’ getting the staff talking, and seeing him as more than a number.  Not that they would do that at a hospice.

Things are happening so fast.  Horrific diagnosis.  Tumors everywhere.  Over a two-day period.  Then hospice care.  I’m still in shock.  My husband is going to die.  Probably within a few days at most.  And the thought horrifies me.  So, I’m working on the concept that I don’t want horror.  All of this is impossible.  But I want Handsome Husband to have the most sacred experience here.  I hope for him to be peaceful and surrounded with love from us, his family, and our family and friends around the country.

As for me, I can feel the cracks happening.  But not in a bad way.  I know that this will be a defining moment of my life.  The cracking will allow the beautiful sun in, and who knows what beauty will grow from it?  No, I don’t want to lose this man I love more than my life.  I want him whole and healthy and strong and loving me and protecting me and I want to hike with him, and climb hills with him, and slow dance with him and have my life with him.  It isn’t going to happen.  So I want to open myself up to all of this.  I’ll love him through it and I’ll cry and be angry at cancer and feel horrified and ripped to shreds.  But that’s okay.  Its’ part of the process.

Handsome Husband very likely won’t be in my life next week.  And I’ll look back at this week and think “Wow, last week at this time, my most beloved husband was alive”.  And I’ll be horrified all over again.  I didn’t expect this man to leave me so soon.

He’s going to be okay.  So am I.  So are our kids.  We just have to get through this and we’ll do that because there is so much love.  Keep it coming our way, people.  It matters.